


I've Got You Under My Skin

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5080828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon and Illya respond to a frantic call for help from the children of a missing agent.  The thing is that they insist he was eaten by a scarecrow before killing his partner and vanishing.</p><p>Written for the 2015 Spook Me Challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Got You Under My Skin

  

 

 

The figures huddled close to each other, making themselves as small a target as possible. They’d never known real violence in their lives. Tonight had been different. He’d come home from one of his business trips and they’d all seen a change and that scared Mommy.

She pulled them aside just before dinner. “Do you remember what we’ve talked about? About what I’ve told you?”

“You mean, uncle?” Jess’s voice was soft. She was very worried.

“Yes and your aunt. You are going to be staying with them for a while.”

“No.” Percy started, but Mommy put her hand over his mouth.

“Hush. It’s just until I get him calmed down. Then you’ll be back lickity split. For now you need to be very brave. Now you need to go to the Taylors’ and ask them to let you use the phone.”

Jessie took Percy’s hand and they walked to the kitchen door, but they stopped at his voice.

“Where are those half breeds going?”

“To get some corn for dinner,” Mommy said.

“I don’t want corn.”

“Run!” Mommy shouted.

Somehow they had managed to get out of the house and crouched in the bushes near the fence line. The moon was playing hide and seek with the clouds. As long as it stayed behind the clouds, they were totally hidden.

“What do you think is wrong with Mommy?” Percy whispered to Jessie.   She’d fallen by the kitchen door. “She hasn’t moved at all.”

“I think he really hurt her. Why didn’t she change? She’s way bigger than way.” Jessie had watched her mother step in front of them to protect them and then heard her cried out as they’d made their escape into the yard. There weren’t many options unless they wanted to go into the corn field and Jessie knew better than to do that. It was too easy to get lost in there. Of course, it might be their only option.

“What are we going to do?” Percy was shaking and she hugged him hard.

“The Reynolds’ place is less than a mile. We can go there.”

“What if he follows us?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m scared, Jessie.” At eight, Percy was trying hard not to cry and failing miserably.

“Me, too.” She was a year older and trying to be equally brave. “Remember what Mommy always taught us, exploit your surroundings to your own advantage. We’re smaller than he is. We can hide in spots where he can’t get us.”

“Where are you?” He stood, swaying like a sunflower in the wind, at the top of the porch stairs. He held a club in one hand and his grimy tee shirt was splattered with something dark. “Where are you?!” he shouted and grabbed onto the railing to keep from falling. “Get in here and take your punishment.”

Neither child had any idea what they had done wrong, but that didn’t matter, at least not to him. He was unpredictable. Jesse was proud of that word, but it also shook her to her core. She remembered the people in the basement, the quiet ones and she clutched Percy tighter.

He stumbled down the stairs and out onto the lawn, waving the glistening stick in the air. Then he stopped and looked straight at them.

Tears started rolling down Jessie’s face and Percy started to quietly sob. This was going to be bad, but maybe they’d make a run for it. They were barefoot and the surrounding cornfields were with studded with shards of corn stalks. The road was their best option, but it was over now.   “Get ready to run, Percy. Don’t stop and don’t look back, ever.”   She turned away, anticipating the blow.

“What are you looking at, you pile of rags?”

In all the name calling they’d endured, he’d never called them that before and Jessie braved a look. The man was at the fence and shouting at a scarecrow. He was so focused upon the scarecrow that he never even saw them huddling in the bushes a few feet away.

“You pathetic freak. You can’t even scare a butterfly much less crows. You should try THRUSH for a change. They’d make a man out of you!”

“You would know.” The voice was as dry as dust.

Jessie swore that the scarecrow turned its head and looked at him. “Come on then, if you think you can take me!”

In a flash, the scarecrow was at his side. “If you insist.” With a sickening crunch, it twisted the man’s neck and he gurgled. Then it started to tear the clothes from him and it was when it realized they were there. It looked at the two small children, both of them white with fear. “Run,” it ordered. “Run or I’ll eat you, too!”

Overhead a flock of crows suddenly appeared from the cornfield and headed straight for them. They nearly reached the children when a large bear appeared out of nowhere. Jesse screamed and Percy followed suit.

It stood up on its back legs and roared. The crows scattered and the children clung to each other in terror. It turned its head and suddenly Mama was there, her face streaked with blood.

“Run!” she ordered. “I’ll hold them off.” Again the bear was there, swapping at the birds with a mighty paw.

They didn’t need any more encouragement. They ran for their lives.

                                    ****

Work was a funny old thing, Napoleon decided. When he was in the field, hip deep in mud and dodging bullets, he longed for his desk, safe and dull. The desk offered him protection and a chance to live another day.

When Napoleon was actually at his desk, his missed the excitement and spontaneity of the field. He craved the thrill of the chase, the wind in his hair, although not actually messing it up too much. Those were the moments when he felt the most alive if only because he was so perilously close to death.

Napoleon sighed and reached into his top drawer for an eraser. He couldn’t keep him mind on things today. It was a lovely spring day and his blood was up. There were several new hires with whom who he had yet to make an impression on - good or bad. There was a new show opening on Broadway and a new exhibit at Met – he could use either to appeal to his quarry.

“Napoleon!” Illya stuck his head in the door.

“What’s wrong?”

“Agent down.”

No two words struck more fear into Napoleon’s heart. He wondered which one of his friends and coworkers would not be returning from his or her assignment. _Dear God, don’t let it be April or Mark_ , he thought as he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. “Who?” he asked as they exited the office.

“Don’t know.” They ran to Communications, slowing as they approached the door. It slid open to reveal Waverly sitting at the console, manipulating dials.

“What did you say your name was?” he spoke into the microphone, speaking slowly.

“I’m Jessie.” The caller was young. “I think my Mommy is dead. She told me to call this number if anything happened to her. I’m kind scared.”

Napoleon exchanged a glance with Waverly, who sat back and allowed Napoleon access. “Hello, Jessie, my name is Napoleon. What makes you think your mommy is dead, sweetheart?” Napoleon leaned closer to the microphone, his voice deliberately gentle and reassuring.

“I saw him kill her and then the scarecrow got him.”

The agents exchanged questioning looks.

“Yeah! He got ‘em.” A young boy’s voice spoke up. “That’s was just before the bear and the crows, though. Mama got ‘em.”

“Hush, Percy, I’m talkin’.”

“What makes you think the scarecrow got him, Jessie?” Napoleon asked softly.

“The Scarecrow told us to run as fast as we could or he’d eat us, too.”

“Us?” Illya looked at Napoleon.

“Me and Percy.” There was mumbled conversation, then a strange voice came on the line

Napoleon swallowed and then a strange voice came on. “Solo? Victor Allsop here.” Napoleon snapped his fingers and almost instantly an image popped up on the wall screen.

“Section Two out of Madera,” Illya said. “That’s a small town at the end of the San Joaquin Valley in California.”

“Thank you.” Napoleon acknowledged Illya with a smile. “Mr. Allsop, what can you tell me?”

“We got the call about ten last night. The kids apparently ran down the road to the nearest house and woke up the residents. It took them a little while to actually listen to Jessie and let her call us. We went out to investigate and knew this was over our head. It looked like the wife had been bludgeoned to death. It looked as if the attack took place in the kitchen, but we found her body out in the driveway going away from the house. We found what we are assuming is Jimmy out in the field.”

“Assuming?” Illya prompted.

“I swear to God above me, it looked like he’d been skinned from head to toe and there were big chunks taken out of him. That’s when we knew this was over our heads. Mr. Solo, Jimmy was a good man… my partner.  He was a little bit of a hot head at times, but I just want... wait, did you hear that?” More muffled conversation, then, “What the hell is that?”

"Hear what?" Napoleon asked.

“Wait, where are the kids?” Allsop asked. “Someone find the kids!”

Another voice at Allsop’s end asked. “What the name of all that’s holy is that?”

"What? Oh my God, Jimmy! No, you -- you can't -- you're dead. Stop or I'll shoot." Shots rang out and then there was screaming, a bloodcurdling keening.

"Mr. Allsop!" Napoleon shouted, but the noise on the other end was overwhelming. There was screaming, crying and the slick wet sound of someone chewing.

"Mr. Allsop?" Napoleon tried again.

"Run," the voice commanded. "Or I'll eat you, too."

The line went dead and the agents exchanged uneasy glances as Waverly reached for his pipe.

"We've lost the connection, sir." A female operator's voice made them all start.

Illya sighed and looked a little embarrassed about being surprised. “Well, I’ve heard that California is very nice this time of the year.”

                                                            *****

 _The one thing you had to say about being an enforcement agent, the days are never really the same twice,_ Napoleon thought. He’d started the day writing reports and wishing something exciting would happen. Now, a few hours later, he was on a jet heading to sunny California and wishing he was back behind his desk. He had an uneasy feeling about this assignment.

There had no more word from Allsop or the children. A team of agents from Los Angeles were headed in that direction, but they hadn't arrived yet.

The kid behind Illya’s seat had been kicking it for the last half hour. The Russian looked primed to turn around and administer his own particular form of revenge. Napoleon stood and stretched his back, while sending a glare in the young man’s direction. The kid ignored it. “Illya, do you want to join me in the lounge for a moment?” The flash of relief in Illya’s eyes was heart rendering and he quickly bounced to his feet as Napoleon grinned.

They moved to the back of the plane where a lounge area had been set up. Only one other table was occupied. Napoleon picked the farthest one away from it and slid down onto the bench seat.

“Two martinis,” Napoleon said to the stewardess. He smiled and let his eyes caress her face. She flushed beneath his gaze. “Very dry. Thank you.” A little flirting went a long way to ensure excellent service and Napoleon didn’t mind the effort.

"Did you get anything by the way of man-eating scarecrows from Research?" Illya asked after she moved away.

"Mostly just snickers and odd looks. Meredith said she would let me know, but I am dubious as to her success."

"Don't be. If there's anything out there, she will find it. She's a fabulous researcher, among other things."

Napoleon’s smile warned him of the stewardess’s approach. Their drinks arrived and they touched rims together before sipping. "I just want to know what happened. I know what we heard, but that could all be misleading and I’m really confused about the crows and the bear. THRUSH has a hand in this, of that I'm certain."

"And if they don't?" Illya asked, setting his drink down and lacing his fingers. "I have a bad feeling, Napoleon." That his partner was equally concerned was just a bit more than alarming to Napoleon. Instead of voicing his own misgivings, he chose to make light of it.

"I'll get you a night light and a security blanket."

"You are glib, but there are things bigger and more mysterious than either of us can imagine."

"You don't believe that kid saying her father had been eaten by a scarecrow, do you?"

"I’m just saying I don’t disbelieve it, either. Do you have any possible explanation?”

“I don’t, but that doesn’t mean—“

Illya cut him off. “All I know is that while working for UNCLE, I have seen things that I didn't believe were possible. I don't believe, neither do I disbelieve." Illya sipped. “It is odd, however, that there was nothing in Velez’s file about having children.”

“I’m right there with you on that.” Napoleon finished his drink and was about to hold up his hand for another when the pitch of the airplane’s engine changed ever so slightly. “Ah, we are on approach.”

“Good. The sooner we can get to the site, the sooner we can ascertain what really happened. And the sooner than young gentleman behind me is restrained the better.”

“We are getting ready to land, gentlemen. The captain would like you to return to your seat.”   The stewardess was slightly apologetic as she took their glasses from them.

As they returned to their seats, Illya took the opportunity to glare at the child. The boy stuck out his tongue and his mother scolded him.

“I’m sorry, but he’s a willful child,” she murmured by way of an apology. She sat him down in his seat and strapped him in.

“At least you’ll get some peace now.” Napoleon murmured to his partner. The child’s feet were too short to reach the seat in front of him.

“It is likely the last for a while.”

                                                            ****

Illya was pulling his suitcase from the luggage cart as two men approached them. They had a look about them and out of the corner of his eye, Napoleon watched Illya reacting the same way as his hand moved casually to his firearm.

“Mr. Solo? Mr. Kuryakin?” The shorter of the pair slowed, holding his arms away from his sides slightly.

“And you would be?” Napoleon’s position didn’t waver.

“Ben Allister from the Fresno Office.” He moved slowly and withdrew a leather wallet from his jacket pocket. He flipped it open to reveal a gold Section Two card. “This is my partner, Chuck Mooney.” Both New York agents relaxed and Napoleon took Mooney’s outstretched hand to give it a firm shake.

“I thought Mr. Allsop was meeting us.” Illya shook each hand in turn.

The two agents exchanged uneasy looks. “Ah, unfortunately Mr. Allsop is dead,” Allister said, tucking his ID away.

“What?” Illya set his suitcase down and loosened his tie slightly. “When did that happen?”

“Yesterday and it would appear that his partner killed him.” Mooney kept his focus moving, even though they were practically the only ones in the small airport.

“But I thought--” Napoleon started.

Allister nodded seriously. “So did he just before… well, let’s just say that it wasn’t pleasant.”

“It is very warm here.” Illya said suddenly.

“Is it?” Moony grabbed Napoleon’s suitcase and started walking. “This is just the Central Valley in the spring and anything below ninety is downright chilly. We are parked out here.”

“Spring? It feels like the middle of a New York summer,” Napoleon muttered.

“Can’t be.” Mooney gestured to the lawns surround the airport. “See? We still have some green grass. By summer, this is all brown.”

The drive from the airport to their hotel was filled with small talk and nothing of consequence.

Illya stared out the window, his brow furrowing at times. Napoleon recognized that his partner was thinking of something, but wasn’t prepared to tip his hand yet.

“Are the children all right?” Illya asked suddenly and Mooney turned from the front seat.

“Kids?”

“Velez’s children.”

Mooney shook his head. “I don’t think he had any kids.”

“We spoke with the oldest. She was the one who reported his death to us. Then Mr. Allsop reported and that’s when he was…” Napoleon let the sentence trail off.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Solo. I don’t know of any kids. Of course, we’re out of the San Francisco office, so we aren’t really familiar with the agents down here. I thought Section Ones were against agents having wives, much less families.”

“They are.” Napoleon frowned and shook his head. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

                                                            ****

Illya paused at the door of the morgue and Napoleon gave him a nudge with his shoulder. “What’s the matter, partner? You scared of dead people?”

“No, just the cause of them getting that way that bothers me.” He shook his head slowly as they entered. “Why anyone would want to work in Autopsy is beyond me.”

“Why anyone would want to spend their time getting injured in the line of duty is what’s beyond me.” The speaker pulled a mask from his face and offered a gloved hand. “I’m Dr. Harris. Welcome to the Outer Limits.”

“Because it’s scary and odd?” Napoleon grinned and looked around at the wall of refrigerated drawers and metal tables.

“No, it’s the room at the outermost limit of the building.” Harris turned and limped back towards a table. “Although I like your definition as well and it has merit.”

“Looks like you have some firsthand knowledge of the dangers of field work yourself.”

“Me? Oh, heavens, no! I was steeple chasing and my horse fell on me. After many months in the hospital, I developed a fondness for medicine and switched majors.” He sighed. “Ah, but that was many years ago. Because of the accident, I lack the fine motor skills needed for a surgeon, but my patients don’t seem to mind.” He gestured towards two sheet-covered bodies. “I suspect you are here for Mr. Allsop and Mr. Velez or what we are assuming to be them.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, it’s rather hard to tell.” He limped towards the nearest table and carefully peeled back the sheet.

Illya turned away. “Where is his head?”

“Forget his head,” Napoleon murmured. “Where’s his skin?”

The coroner returned the sheet. “That is the sixty four thousand dollar question, Mr. Solo.”

“Is the other body in the same condition?”

“More or less.” The doctor reached for the sheet and Napoleon stayed his hand.

“That’s all right, Doctor. We will take your word for it. How did you determine that these are our agents?”

“I used general markers, height, weight, blood type, scar tissue, that sort of thing.”

“Thank you.” Napoleon smiled at him and nodded. “I think we need to do a bit more legwork.” Then he snapped his fingers. “What about Velez’s wife?”

“Ah, and here we have an ever bigger mystery.” The doctor limped to a drawer and opened it, sliding out the rack. He lifted the sheet back. “Unlike her husband and Mr. Allsop, we are fairly certain as to the cause of death.”

“Which was, blunt force trauma, but there are several anomalies that have puzzles me.”

“Such as?” Illya’s interest was suddenly piqued.

The doctor held up an arm or rather a paw. “Why did she have bear paws for hands?”

“Conjecture?”

“I have none. This falls under the category of too weird for me.”

“Illya?”

“None that would make any sense to anyone awake. I think that we need to pay a visit to Mr. Velez’s home. At this point I still have more questions than answers.”

“Agreed. Thank you for your help, Doctor.”

“My pleasure. Good hunting.”

Napoleon led the way out of the room and Illya pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose. “It’s going to take me a month to get that smell out of my nose. I could not imagine working in that every day.”

“One man’s stench is another one’s perfume, I suppose.” For a few moments they walked in silence. “I’ll give Mooney a call and see if he can arrange a car.”

“Thanks. Perhaps once we are out there, some things will become clearer.”

“As clear a mud.”

                                                            *****

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Napoleon looked up from the map and then back down. “This map reads like stereo instructions. I can’t make heads or tails out of it.”

“You’re holding it upside down.”

“Not according to the legion. North is that way.” Napoleon pointed.

Illya laughed. “I have a very good sense of direction, Napoleon, and north is definitely not that way.” He hooked a finger over his shoulder. “We are headed south.”

“Wait… then that’s...” Napoleon flipped the map over again. “Who wrote this thing? It’s as if someone didn’t want us out here.”

Illya pushed the sunglasses back in place. They slipped back down Illya’s sweaty nose. Even the wind from the open window was hot and the inside of the sedan felt like an oven. He pulled over and put on the hand brake. “May I see, please?”

Napoleon handed over the map, glad to be rid of it, and looked around, shaking his head. “Why would an agent live out here?” Either side of the road was lined with cornfields blocking most of the view.

“Perhaps he likes his privacy.” Illya frowned as he twisted the map around.

“But think about it, Illya. We’re on call all the time. Imagine the drive in from here. By the time he could report for duty, the free world would have fallen.”

“Perhaps he was worth the effort.” Illya gave up and tossed the map into the back seat. “According to his file, he was a brilliant agent.”

“UNCLE tends to keep its brilliant agents closer to home, if you know what I mean.”

Illya grinned. “I think I see something ahead. Is that smoke?”

“Listen!” Napoleon opened his door. “I hear a siren.”

The siren grew louder and a minute later, a fire truck, it’s lights flashing and siren blaring, flew past them.

“Napoleon?”

“Yes, Illya?”

“Why do I have a feeling that it’s the Velez place they’re headed for?”

“You mean, was the Velez place. Better follow them as they probably have a better map.”

“Something very strange is going on here.”

“I agree.” Napoleon pursed his lips and tapped them with a forefinger, a sure sign that he was thinking. “Someone didn’t want us out here.”

“Do we press on?”

“We do. I have a feeling someone doesn’t want us to find something.”

“THRUSH?”

“Or a man-eating scarecrow.”

 

The main structure was fully engulfed in flames as they pulled up. Immediately an official-looking man approached them, his face stern and his eyes hard. “You gentlemen need to leave the area. It’s not safe.”

Napoleon pulled out his ID and held it for the man to see. “Napoleon Solo from UNCLE. We lost an agent in that house and we were hoping for some clues as to what happen.”

“I’m afraid you are too late for that, Mr. Solo. It looks like a complete loss.”

While Napoleon spoke with the fire chief, Illya climbed out of the car and walked towards the corn field. There was an empty pole jutting up into the air and something caught his eye. There was dried blood on the corn leaves and Illya touched his finger to it. It reminded him that a man had died here a short time.

Hot wind ruffled his hair and, suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement by a small outbuilding. It was brief, but it was enough to capture his attention. He walked toward the shed, his hand moving closer to his weapon.

He got to the door and looked down. Dried dirt had been scuffed away revealing darker dirt beneath it. Considering the hot dry air, that told him that the door had been just opened. He unholstered his weapon and yanked open the door.

A scream made him jump and he pointed the Walther in the direction of the sound. Two small children cowered in a dusty, cobweb-filled corner, arms around each other.

Illya immediately dropped the weapon and thanked whatever powers above that kept UNCLE agents from having itchy trigger fingers. He drew a deep breath and shook his head.

There was a shadow behind him and he knew without turning that Napoleon had arrived.

Instantly Napoleon summed up the situation and slowly approached the pair. Holding his hand out in front of him, he knelt before them. “It’s okay, you don’t need to be afraid of us. We won’t hurt you.”

“You… you’re the man on the phone,” a young girl said. However, she didn’t move.

“I am. You must be Jessie. I’m Napoleon and this is my partner, Illya. You can trust me. We came all the way out here to find you and take you away.”

The boy touched her arm. “Please, Jessie, I’m awfully hungry and he might come back.”

She hugged her brother tightly and Napoleon glanced quickly at Illya. Illya nodded and left. When they were alone, Napoleon asked, “Jessie, you didn’t start that fire, did you?”

“No, sir. Mommy told us fire was bad and never to play with it. It hurts the Earth.”

“It does that. Did you happen to see who did?”

“Uh, huh.”

Illya returned with the bag lunches they had had the hotel pack for them and both children stared, obviously fixated. Napoleon took the bags and handed one to each of them. Instantly, they separated, tore into the bags and started eating with great huge bites.

“Slow down, you’ll make yourselves sick. No one will take it from you,” Illya said, his eyes sad, their actions obviously sparking painful memories.

Napoleon stood to give Illya’s shoulder a squeeze and smiled kindly at his partner. Then he returned to the children. “Who started the fire, Jessie?”

The girl mumbled around her mouthful, “It was sort of dark and he didn’t know we were here.”

“That was good,” Percy said, finishing his sandwich. “He’d have gotten us for sure.”

“Who?”

“Jimmy.”

“Jimmy Velez? Your father.”

“He wasn’t our daddy!” Jessie shouted, dropping what remained of her sandwich. She threw herself back into the corner. Percy immediately went to her and hugged her. “He wasn’t our daddy,” she repeated, choking back a sob.

Percy petted her head. “It’s okay, Jessie. He can’t hurt us now. None of us.”

“Illya, I think it’s time we take our leave of this place.” Napoleon stood up. “Are you two ready to get out of here?”

“You bet,” Percy said getting to his feet, but Jessie didn’t move. “Come on, Jessie, if we don’t leave now, he might come back and burn everything else down.”

“’Kay.” She stood up, squared her shoulders and glared at Napoleon. “But you better not try anything, mister.”

“So young and she’s already got your number.” Illya murmured as he watched at the two cautiously moved out of the shed and into the sun. Everything about their body language was tense and they walked very close to Napoleon until they got to the car. Rapidly, they climbed into the back and locked the passenger doors.

“I’m going to go have a talk with the fire chief,” Napoleon said as Illya got behind the wheel of the car. “I still intend to have a look around here as soon as possible.”

Illya turned the key and the engine clicked. He tried again and shook his head. “I hate rental cars.”

He got out and popped open the hood. Napoleon joined him.

“What’s wrong?”

Illya held up a hose that had been neatly sliced in half. “First they didn’t want us here and now I’d say someone didn’t want us to leave.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Does a baby go goo? It just may take a while.”

The fire chief walked up just then and Napoleon gestured him closer. “Chief, did you happen to see anyone around our car?”

“I did.” He looked around and shook his head. “I don’t see him now, but he was just here. Why do you ask?”

“Someone sabotaged our car.” Illya’s voice was muffled as he worked to repair the hose.

“Why would he do that? He was one of you fellas.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was an UNCLE agent.”

                                                            *****

Napoleon stood in the hotel room’s adjoining doorway and watched the two children sleep. Considering all that had happened to them, they were under protective custody now and Napoleon knew of no better way to keep them safe other than keeping them close at hand.

They’d ended up leaving the rental car at the house and hitching a ride back in the fire engine. It had been quite the adventure for the children and Napoleon suspected Illya had just as much fun.

They checked in and got Jessie and Percy cleaned up and fed again. Now they slept curled up together in one indistinguishable lump under the bed clothes.

“Are you all right?” Illya’s question was soft so as to not wake Jessie and Percy.

“Yes, I was just thinking if my life had been just a bit different, those could have been my kids.”

“Your time will come, my friend.”

“What did HQ say?” Napoleon stepped back and eased the interconnecting door closed, taking care to leave it slightly open.

“I do believe it was the first time I’d heard Mr. Waverly speechless.” Illya walked over to one of the twin beds and collapsed in it. “He is mystified. Perhaps we can obtain prints off the car when we return tomorrow morning.”

“Possibly.” Napoleon looked back at the door. “Anything else?”

“Meredith had some information for us, but I’m not sure you want to hear it.”

“Illya.”

“She uncovered something called a Skinwalker.”

“A what?” Napoleon rubbed his eyes.

“A Skinwalker. It’s an old Indian myth about a creature who takes the skin from one victim in order to get close to his next victim. It was the closest thing she could get to the man-eating scarecrow. It supposedly stole your voice first, so no one could here you scream. Then it would eat you alive.”

“Well, that sounds just peachy.” Napoleon rested a hand on the door frame and stared in at the bed. “What about the bear paws?”

“She said it sound like a shape shifter – a person who can take on the guise of an animal.”

“Whatever happen to the bad guys just shooting at us? I sort of miss those days.”

Illya smiled and nodded. “Would you like to take the first watch or second?”

“Can you sleep now?”

“Always.”

“Then relieve me at midnight.”

“Do you really think someone will try something? We checked in under false names.” Illya unstrapped his holster and placed it on the small bed stand they shared. He loosened his tie and let in dangle around his neck.

“But UNCLE knows where we are and it’s a very small town. To be honest, I just don’t know what to think, Partner Mine.” Napoleon shuffled through the files on the small motel table. “This is a tiny field office and they don’t always play by our rules.”

“But in the end, they are still UNCLE.” Illya went to his suitcase to grab his shaving kit. “We have to believe that we can count upon our own people.”

“I hope so.” There was a whimper of sound from the other room and Napoleon was on his feet in a second. Illya watched him go, but went along with his ablutions. A minute later, Napoleon returned. “Bad dream.”

Illya spit out his mouthful of toothpaste and watched the swirling water wash it down the sink. “I know how they feel. Not only did they lose their mother, but also their home. They have nothing now.”

“Ah, that’s where you are wrong. They have an aunt and I have home tracking her down.”

“Why New York and not… wait, you think there’s a mole here?”

“Yes and no. Our mole may have gone underground for the moment. I don’t mind taking chances with my life, but not theirs.” Napoleon pulled one of the indescribably uncomfortable room chairs closer to the interconnecting door and sat, facing it. “I still have too many questions without answers to feel comfortable at the moment.”

Illya climbed into one of the two twin bed and stretched out. He studied the ceiling for a moment and sighed.

“I’m sorry. Is the light bothering you?” Napoleon looked up from his reading.

“No, this case is. What would cause a man to murder his wife and burn his home? Why not just leave her and UNCLE? Why kill her?”

“Death becomes easy for some people and it’s not that easy to leave UNCLE.”

“Because he was mean.” Both men looked and Percy was standing at the door. “He didn’t love Mommy. He called her bad names and hurt her. We could hear her crying at night.”

“Why didn’t she leave him, Percy?” Napoleon let the boy climb into his lap.

“When he wasn’t there, he kept her chained up.” Percy shifted until he was comfortable, his face nestled against Napoleon’s chest.

“What?” Napoleon’s face showed his anguish. He stroked Percy’s dark hair. “Did he hurt you, too?”

“He yelled at us a lot and he hit us, too, but not like he did Mommy. He would keep us downstairs with the others when he wasn’t there.”

“Others?” Illya was out of bed now. “Percy, were there other people in the house?”

“Mommies and kids. The quiet ones we called them.” He smiled sadly as he settled in Napoleon’s arms. “We still tried to play with them, though, and I’d take them my pudding sometimes. It would make them cry. I think they missed their homes.”

“Where were those, Percy?”

“Long ways away. I think it’s called Mexico.” Percy sighed. “After Daddy died, Jimmy came. Mommy musta been too scared to change or she would have gotten him.”

“Change?”

“She could become a bear if she wanted, but I’ve only seen that happen twice. Once when there was a really bad thunderstorm and then…” Percy started to choke. “I miss Mommy!”

Napoleon rocked the child in his arms and shushed him. “Shh, don’t wake up Jessie.”

Illya got out of bed to crouch beside Percy. “How about if I tell you a gypsy story about a house that walked around in chicken feet?”

Percy rubbed his eyes and made a face. “Houses don’t have chicken feet.”

“Baba Yaga’s did.” Illya picked the boy up and carried him back to the twin bed. He settled beside him and started talking in a low voice.

The voice trailed off and Napoleon glanced up. “Sleeping?”

“The old stories always work their magic.” Illya got up and pulled the covers over the boy. “Napoleon, what have we gotten into?”

“I don’t know, but it ends now.” Napoleon shifted the dozing boy and pulled out his communicator. “Open Channel D, Top Priority.”

                                                            ****

Illya looked at the remains of their rental car and shook his head. Like the house, it had been torched during the night and was still smoking. “Guess we aren’t going to get our deposit back on that. I should have taken the fingerprints last night.” He tossed the license plate back onto the smoldering pile and ran his fingers through his hair. “What a mess.”

“We needed to get the kids out of here and someone counted on that. He didn’t want anything left behind either.” Napoleon scanned the area and gestured to the UNCLE agents in the truck. They immediately responded, moving out to search the grounds and the ruins of the house.

Now that the children were on an UNCLE plane and headed well away from this place with agents he trusted, Napoleon was determined to figure out what was going on. At least he knew they were finally safe.

“It’s funny about that, though. No matter how hard you try, there’s always something left.” Illya headed for the house and stood on what had been the front porch. He pulled a crudely drawn map from his pocket and looked around to get his bearings. “There’s something I don’t understand, Napoleon.”

“Just something? I have more questions than answers at this point.”

“As do I, but the biggest one is, why would THRUSH do this?” Illya shifted a twisted piece of metal. “They are into world domination, enslaving countries, conquering nations, and a host of other disreputable things, but they have never stooped to slavery.”

“That we know about.”

There was a shout and both men looked in that direction. One agent was waving something that looked like an ID card. “As I said, there’s usually something left behind.”

“Not just that.” Napoleon used a stick to push aside some ash. “Look at this. Percy was telling the truth.” Two small skulls looked sadly at them from its resting place. “Call the coroner.”

                                                            ****

Napoleon watched the man carefully pull another skull from the debris. Around them, a few other agents worked to remove charred wood and twisted metal. The rest had returned to town to regroup and contact headquarters for advice. Mr. Waverly was bringing in another half dozen agents from the San Francisco office to help

“There’s another one over here, Napoleon,” Gordon said. He was out of the Los Angeles office and Napoleon had worked with him many times before.

Napoleon acknowledge the agent with a wave of his hand. “That make seven now. Any ideas as to what is going on, Doc?”

The man sprang to his feet. “Never call me Doc! I am Doctor Harris.”

Illya glanced up from his squatting position on the ground. The outburst seemed contrary to the doctor’s nature up to that point. He looked at Napoleon, who hunched his shoulders.

“I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect.” Napoleon said with an apologetic smile.

The doctor huffed and returned his attention to the skull. “Well, I can tell you that they were all dead before the fire took them.” He stuck a pinkie into a perfectly round hole. “This one was also shot.”

Napoleon, still perplexed as to the outburst. “All right, well, I will leave you to it.” He walked over to Gordon, who was brushing the ash from the knees of his pants.

“What was that all about, Napoleon?”

“No idea. Hey, Gordon, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“I know you are interested in the supernatural. What do you know about shapeshifters?”

“What an odd question to ask.” He jerked his head. Napoleon followed him to the edges of the basement and away from the rest of the search party. “It doesn’t surprise me, though. I’ve had a feeling ever sense we got here.”

“A feeling?”

“Of something not being right and I read the report about the wife.”

“And?”

“Well, the short definition is that a shapeshifter is someone who can take on another form. It’s also called transmogrification. Usually it’s an animal.”

“Or person?”

“If that’s what they wanted.”

“Percy told me his mother could do that. It’s just a child’s imagination, isn’t it?

“It could be, but I’ve learned to never say never.”

Something caught Napoleon’s eye and he squatted just as a shot rang out and one of their New York agents standing a short distance from Napoleon yelled and fell. The shot had obviously been intended for him.

“Take cover,” he yelled and returned fire. There was an explosion at the back of his head and he collapsed, never feeling the ground as it rose up to meet him.

                                                            ****

“Welcome back.” The words were muttered far too loudly in his ear and Napoleon moaned. “I was afraid I’d hit you too hard.”

Napoleon got his eyes open and the room swirled to a slow stop. Someone heaved him into a sitting position and he clamped his eyes shut to keep from vomiting. After a moment, it felt safe to try to open them again.

He was tied with several coils of rope, nearly suffocating tight. Illya was leaning against a wall, his face sallow in the dim light of the shed. Napoleon recognized that they were in the small outbuilding where Jessie and Percy had been hiding.

“I’m glad you are both awake.” Harris straightened and watched Napoleon struggle against the rope. “Don’t worry, you are as snug as an annoying bug in a rug.”

“What’s going on?” Illya asked quietly, apparently fighting a headache of his own, if his tone and the blood decorating the side of his face was any indication.

“I suppose I do owe you an explanation.” The door opened and two men entered.

“Everything is set, Mitch.”

“Mitch?” The name seemed familiar. “Wait, not **the** Mitch Harris.”

“Who?” Illya asked.

“Mitch ‘The Butcher’ Harris. The FBI has been looking for him for a very long time.”

“In connection with?” Illya asked.

“A little matter of performing unnecessary surgery without a license. Four people died because of his less-than-skilled techniques. Word had it that you disappeared to Mexico.”

“Indeed I did, but only long enough to re-invent myself.”

“Into a less-than-skilled coroner?” The quip earned Illya a backhand across the face that knocked him over. The doctor watched as Illya managed to get back into an upright position, one cheek flaming red.

“Do you know what a coyote is, Mr. Kuryakin?”

“Of course, a buff-gray to reddish-gray wolf-like dog, related to but smaller than the wolf.” Illya gave Napoleon an odd look.

“Ah, but there is another meaning, one perhaps foreign to you. It is also a man who, for a small fee, smuggles immigrants over the border.”

“And?”

“And nothing. If they pay my fee, they are free to go, but until they do, I have to keep something for… collateral.”

“Something like their wives and kids?” Napoleon murmured as if afraid to say the words aloud. “That’s who you had trapped in the basement.”

“I like how you think, Solo.” Harris turned to him and didn’t see Illya’s fingers find his own belt buckle and trigger an emergency homing device.

“No, you don’t. You really don’t.” Napoleon kept Harris’s attention on him. “So what happens if they can’t or won’t pay?”

“Then my guests are required to earn their keep, many in the oldest profession of them all.”

“Is that how Percy’s and Jessie’s mother figured into this?”

“Connie was a special case. You see, we needed a cover and came across your sweet little set up. It wasn’t hard to infiltrate and eliminate the people and fill them with my own. All except for Connie. She pleaded with us to spare her life and her children’s and in turn, she would do what she could to keep UNCLE off our back. I can be most generous when moved. Plus, she was very good in bed.”

“So what happened?”

“She blabbed to those half breeds of hers. She told them how to contact UNCLE if anything happened. When we found out…”

“You killed her,” Illya finished.   He shook his head slowly. “So why the charade with the killer scarecrow?”

“To make the kids sound crazy and unreliable in case they did talk to UNCLE about it.   Am I right?”   Napoleon said, quietly.

“Close enough. And of course they bought it hook, line, and sinker, stupid half-breeds.” Harris took a moment to laugh. “They believe everything! We filled all of them so full of those stories that they never even dared to try and escape.”  

“And now you are going to kill us?” Napoleon asked, his expression unreadable.

“Very good.”

“Just one more question. Who are the men in your morgue?”

“They were your agents, the real Allsop and Velez. We took them out early in the game and replaced them with our own. I thawed them out just in case you got ambitious and took fingerprints.”

“And what of our other agents?”

“Don’t worry about them. Or count on them either. They were hesitant to shoot their fellow agents. My people have not similar compunctions.” Harris struck a match and tossed it into a pile of rags. “And now, as much as I’ve enjoyed our chat, it’s the end of the line for you.”

He walked out laughing and Napoleon made a face, then he looked over at his partner. “He doesn’t know us very well, doesn’t he?”

“Not by half. He didn’t even disarm us.”  Illya dropped and rolled over to Napoleon, then got back up. “Can you reach the blade in my belt?”

It took Napoleon a moment to pry it loose. He could have gone faster, but had no desire to slice himself or his partner open. It took him just a few seconds longer to saw through the rope holding Illya. Illya returned the favor and they both headed for the door. Then Illya grabbed Napoleon’s arm.

Outside there were shots and yells.   There was still a battle raging out there.

“You know, if I was him, I’d be waiting just outside with a gun… just in case. And we have no real weapons.”

“Good point.” Napoleon coughed. “But where to go? We can’t stay in here much longer.”

“The shed is old. “ Illya went to the back of it and pressed against a board. With a hard push he wiggled it loose. Instantly Napoleon was there to help. It came free with a groan and a flood of fresh air greeted them.

Cautiously, Napoleon peeked out. “I don’t see anyone.” He set to work on the one beside it, making the opening wide enough for them to wiggle through while Illya loosened a neighboring plank.

By now the front of the shed was burning and both men tumbled out and into the late afternoon, gasping for fresh air.   They immediately flattened themselves against the ground to keep from presenting a target, but no shots rang out.  Encouraged, they moved a few feet from the shed and took cover in the tall brown grass.

For several long minutes, they stayed in that position, listening and waiting. Then Illya sat up and pointed to a cloud of dust between the rows of corn. “The cavalry approaches.”

The car raced onto the lawn and pulled up not far from their outbuilding. The door opened and two of the Los Angeles agents popped out, shielded by the car doors. The car continued to inch closer towards them, eventually reached them.

The engine cut and Van Dyke, Gordon’s partner, approached Napoleon and Illya while the others fanned out.

“What happened?” Van Dyke asked, helping Napoleon to his feet. “Do you need a doctor?”

“In the worst way possible. Harris is a fugitive and wanted by the FBI. He’s probably half way back to Mexico by now,” Napoleon said. “And I think Illya could do with a patch up.”

“I think you are going to want to see this first, Napoleon.”   Gordon trotted up to them. Crusted blood stained the shoulder of his jacket.

“Thank the stars you are okay. I was afraid you might have gotten killed,” Napoleon said.

“Naw, just a scratch. Like I said, I had a funny feeling something was going on. When I saw what I thought was a fellow agent shooting at me, I had no problem firing back. None of us did. They didn’t seem to be expecting that and took cover in the cornfield. We were waiting for backup when we heard the shouting and gunfire.”

“Harris was wrong about a lot of things.” Illya held a damp cloth to his temple and washed away the blood. “What did you find?”

“It’s easier to show you than explain. Are you okay to do this, Illya?”

Illya dropped the cloth on the grass. “Try and stop me.”

Come with me.” He led the way into the cornfield.   They came out a few minutes later. There had been a small area trampled down and several men, once thought to be trusted UNCLE agents were scattered about. Illya immediately went to one of the dead men and shook his head.

“I’ve seen this back home. It looks like a pack of wolves got them.”

“Probably just two.” Imagine that,” Van Dyke muttered. He and Gordon exchanged strange smiles.

“Strange for wolves to be out here,” Napoleon said.

“But not coyotes.” Gordon continued to move. “This isn’t what I wanted to show you, though. That’s over here.

They followed him to a pole. Harris, much of his skin flayed from him, had been skewered on it. Only his face was untouched, except for the look of sheer terror frozen on it.

“Looks like he got what he deserved. I only hope he suffered as much as some of his victims did.”

“Like I earlier, there are more things in this world than I want to think about.” Illya looked over at another nearby scarecrow that seemed to be bobbing its head in acknowledgement. “Let’s go home.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
